The Finding of Neal Caffrey
by SoVeryEasilyAmused
Summary: Elizabeth, while on a "forced" vacation with Peter, finds Neal in the oddest of places doing the oddest of things a little more than two years after the failed commutation hearing and the "incident" with Agent Kramer. One shot, rated to be safe!


Title: The Finding of Neal Caffrey

Rating: M (18+)

Pairings: Peter/Elizabeth (WC)

Warnings: Moderate language (Dallas has a major potty mouth!), mentions of drug use, and descriptions of stripping (no visual, though, sorry!)

Summary: Elizabeth, while on a "forced" vacation with Peter, finds Neal in the oddest of places (doing the oddest of things) a little more than two years after the failed commutation hearing and the "incident" with Agent Kramer. One shot, rated to be safe!

Tags: Neal, Peter, Elizabeth, White Collar, Magic Mike, stripping

Disclaimer: I do not own White Collar, Magic Mike, or any of the characters associated with either show/movie. If I did, I wouldn't be wasting my time writing about them. But please, if they ever go on sale – let me know?

_~ Authors Notes ~_

So, I'm bad. Very (very) bad. I should be ashamed of myself. Really.

I saw Magic Mike twice. Yes, I said twice. Anyone who has seen it might understand why (can anyone say "eye candy"?) For those of you who haven't seen it (or the trailer) then go. See it. But only if you like male nudity and weak plots!

(Basic background summary: Mike, a stripper, takes a newbie under his wing, falls in love with the newbie's sister, then leaves the business for her. It's inspired by Channing Tatum's (who plays Mike) own experience as a stripper.)

But anyways, I'm getting distracted. While sitting in the theater watching this for the second time it got me thinking about Neal taking off because of Kramer and where exactly he might end up. You know, post overseas island with Mozzie.

It's probably not very in canon and won't happen on the show (oh man don't I wish it would though) but hey, I'm using my creative license. And damn but I'm never going to watch White Collar without the picture of Matt Bomer on stage stuck in my head…. Not that I'm complaining or anything.

PS – I've never written stripping (or dancing) scenes before so they might be a little bit weird. If something doesn't make sense, let me know and I will try to fix it!

**IMPORTANT: **

I am looking for someone willing to beta read for me. Not just for this fic, but some others as I finish them up. I only send out COMPLETED works to be beta read even if I only send them out one chapter at a time! So I won't leave anyone hanging waiting for a new chapter.

I'm mostly looking for someone that can read through and double check spelling, capitalization, grammar, paragraphing, etc. It's been pointed out that I have problems with where/were and there/their…. I must type too fast and I don't seem to be able to catch it on read through myself.

Also looking for someone that can just tell me whether the story as a whole makes sense and whether I keep the characters "in character" or not. Like I said, this is for THIS story and some others (Supernatural Collar to name one AND a few I haven't published yet.)

PM me if interested!

Pages: 25

Words: 8,732

Being who he was (expert forger, con man, and thief – allegedly, he would tell people, of course) there weren't many roles that Neal Caffrey hadn't played in his quest to complete a job. He had been a security guard, prison guard, taxi driver, valet, doctor, lawyer, businessman, and dentist (just to name a few). He had also been a friend, a confident, a partner, and a lover to many.

The list went on, really. If you named it he probably played it. Or could play it if it meant a successful heist or getaway. "Ken, you're up in five." Neal turned a charming smile to the scantily clad thirty-something host named Dallas and added "male stripper" to that list.

When he had first arrived in Florida he had taken some time to just relax and enjoy being back in the states after traveling for a solid year. But funds where short by that point. Mozzie - his best friend and partner in crime - was still sifting through the art they had less-than-legally recovered from a sunken German U-Boat, trying to determine which pieces where red flagged on the surviving copy of the manifest, which ones had active claims on them, and which where technically up for grabs (and wouldn't make him feel guilty fencing considering the grief the damn treasure had already caused.)

Until Mozzie pulled through, though, he had been stuck without any sort of income and no access to his back-up stashes because they didn't want to risk that the F.B.I. had already got to them and where sitting on them. Which meant he had to find a job, preferably one that wouldn't be on the F.B.I.'s radar – no museums, no art galleries, no place with access to forging equipment. Unfortunately, that only left him with the option of high-risk places like chain stores, restaurants, and entertainment companies. Big "no-no's" (in Mozzie's words.)

It was while he was scoping out the bar scene in hopes that someone would be hiring temporary bouncers or wait staff that he met Mike. The man had approached him after Neal had been turned down by the manager of the popular club-of-the-night, and handed him a flyer that read _Dallas' Rising Productions Presents: Xquisite, an All Male Dance Revenue_.

At first Neal had wanted to walk away, because stripping really wasn't his thing, but Mike stopped him with a knowing look and started talking about Dallas and Xquisite. No background checks through official channels upon hire – just personal research to make sure Neal was "safe" – and assurances that the owner, Dallas, operated legally enough that they weren't on law enforcement's radar. Essentially, Neal would be totally anonymous and working in a position that no one would have ever expected or thought to look for him in.

So he took the job. And to be honest, it wasn't as bad as he had thought it might be. After a two week "training program" with Dallas – which he never wanted to revisit or even think about again, thank you very much – he was bumped from dancing in the backgrounds to dancing up front and center (beside Mike of course).

Full time work as a dancer meant going in four nights a week – Wednesday through Saturday – from nine p.m. to five in the morning. The other three days where his to do with as he pleased so long as he wasn't getting arrested or otherwise giving Dallas and his business a bad reputation. The pay was excellent for a 32 hour week, too. Between the hourly wage and tips he usually walked out with anywhere from $300 on up per show – roughly $1,200 a week - which easily paid for his rent and basic needs. And all he had to do was strip off his clothes and dance around on stage in front of some (usually inebriated) ladies. Not really a difficult task for someone who loved performing to begin with!

"All right, all right, all right!" Neal shook himself out of his thoughts and turned his attention to the stage as Tito, the Puerto Rican with an affinity for navy uniforms, exited the stage. Neal clapped a bare muscled shoulder in congratulations as the man passed by, even as Tito started to peel bills out of his thong. Tito gave him a thump on the ass in return and Neal turned his full attention to Dallas to await his cue. The host took his sweet time riling up the ladies – he was good at it, Neal had to admit - but when he finally saw Dallas gyrate his hips and jump down off the stage he took his place. A thumping bass started playing and he couldn't suppress a small, amused grin – the lights turned on as his cue to start.

The beat of "Bad Boys" washed over him as he sashayed his way down to the middle of the stage, stopping only when he hit to end that jutted into the audience. He moved fluidly, softly, as if he where in the middle of a heist. Every other step he would gyrate his hips obscenely – the first "dance move" that Dallas taught him during their "lessons" and THE essential must-know move in the business - and his audience would whoop or squeal.

As the chorus came on he heard Richie – also known as Big Dick Richie for reasons one can guess quite easily – clomp his way onto the stage amidst cat-calls and appreciative whistles. The cop to Neal's robber, fittingly enough – it amused Neal to no end and he wondered if his friends back in the city would find it as amusing. June, his landlady and mother figure, might – she had an open sense of humor.

For a good portion of the song Neal and Richie danced around one another - though using the term 'dancing' to describe it was putting it mildly, the moves where raunchy and quite obviously mimed sexual acts – without actually touching. Two mostly naked men dancing provocatively on stage was always a big hit with the ladies and Dallas was eager to please his customers considering the money they threw at Dallas and the stage for each successful performance - but even strippers had boundaries, apparently, and outright dirty dancing directly with other men seemed to be the line for most (even though Neal figured that there where plenty of ladies out there that would have paid triple to see it and he had no doubt Dallas would jump on the chance to offer if he could find any men willing).

Every so often they would move close to the edge of the stage to dance so that money – mostly $10's and $20's but occasionally $50's - could be tucked into the waistbands or pockets of their clothes. Discreet hand movements would tuck bills deeper into pockets on a regular basis considering the outer clothes didn't last long at all and would eventually be taken off. Anything thrown onto the stage during a dual act would be divvied up equally between the dancers later on.

The crowd tonight was cheering enthusiastically, and laughing, as every other verse of the song one piece of their elaborate costumes was shed and thrown into the audience – pants where thrown closest to the stage, signaling to the audience that they where off limits, but shirts where thrown into the crowd amidst squeals. It went on like this until Neal and Richie where left on opposite ends of the stage in nothing but their thongs and props - Richie still had his cop hat on and was swinging a pair of cuffs off his nightstick, and Neal still had his boots and gloves on.

As the last verses of the song came on Neal turned to Richie and dropped to the floor as if in surrender, and fluidly began to dry hump the stage, trying to keep most of his weight on his toes so his knees wouldn't rub the wood too much and blister. Richie would be climbing down to climb onto some woman's lap at this point so he humped his way to the edge of the stage where the gathered ladies could grope him and offer bills until the song trailed to an end.

Dallas immediately hopped up with his traditional barrage of slurs and innuendos that Neal ignored, and Neal gathered his loot to bring to the back room, snagging his pants on the way by. He passed Mike, who gave him a thumbs-up, with Richie close behind him and they paused to accept a pile of bills from the bouncer that swept up the stage after their performance.

Back in the changing room Tito and Tarzan (and no, that was probably not his real name – Neal doubted that any of these guys used their real names) where lounging on one of the sofas with beers in hand. "Quite the crowd tonight!" Tito cheered. "$250, and that doesn't count my hourly."

"$235." Tarzan grunted. Neal expertly gathered up the various bills from his thong before smoothly separating the bills into piles. Then he separated out the pile handed to him by the bouncer and started counting quickly, starting with the pile of ones and moving on up to add in the two $50's. The others barely spared him a glance – at first they had been astounded by how quickly and accurately he could count the cash, but now it was "old news" and Neal was left to count in peace.

Neal, personally, was more astounded in the beginning by how much money could be stuffed into the tiny piece of cloth posing as underwear!

"$300 even." He reported with a smug grin. He began to methodically flatten the bills, using the edge of a table to smooth out the wrinkles before piling and banding them. They would need to sit under a book for a couple of days before they would lay mostly flat, but it would do for now.

Richie ended up with $270. Mike, when he came back and counted, ended up with more than anyone – a whopping $355. He wasn't the star of the show for no reason, Neal mused. Dallas could be heard ending the show, thanking the ladies for their time and cash, and before long he too appeared with his own loot (which totaled to be even with Mike's earnings despite him not being a performer).

"My god, but wasn't that a damn good night." Dallas said, patting his bulging pocket. "Did you see that blond chick in the back? Fucking eyeballing me, man!" Tito passed their 'boss' a beer. "And there was this brunette chick that wouldn't stop staring at you Ken."

"Which one?" Neal asked with a smug grin. "I saw a couple." There where laughs and Neal fist bumped Tito.

"Fucking bluest eyes I've seen in a while, with legs up to her tits." Dallas said, eyes glazed, as he waved his hand around mid chest as a visual exaggeration. "She was smoking." He waggled his eyebrows. Neal rolled his eyes and shoved him. Dallas took it in stride and swayed over to Mike, presumably to talk shop.

"Well, I'm out guys – see you all on Wednesday." Neal said as he drained his beer. There was a light-hearted groan of dismay, and pleas to stay and hang out, but Neal just pocketed his cash and pulled a pair of jeans and a tee shirt on. After hours parties where one of those things he had to be in the mood for – and tonight he just wasn't. He had plans for tomorrow that didn't involve sleeping off a hangover or nursing a pot-induced headache.

The guys shouted out their farewells as he exited through the back and he made his way over to the motorcycle parked next to Mike's pickup truck. He pulled on his helmet and mounted the sleek blue and black 'crotch rocket'. It buzzed to life and he slowly made his way out of the lot. As he pulled out, before he could lower his visor, he caught sight of a leggy brunette standing alone across the street.

It was only a flash, but he could have sworn the woman was Elizabeth Burke. Elizabeth was married to the FBI agent that had caught and imprisoned him a little over six years ago. Peter Burke had also been his handler when Neal convinced the man to get him out on work release the first – and only – time he had escaped maximum security prison. But he hadn't seen Peter or Elizabeth since he and Mozzie took off a little over two years ago so he brushed it off.

Neal forgot the Elizabeth look-alike as soon as he got home and crashed. He spent his free time over the next couple of days painting a couple of abstract portraits and landscapes (one of which was a commissioned piece he was being paid $700 to have finished by the end of the week), drawing ideas for new paintings, working out on his treadmill, and visiting the beach practically in his back yard.

Wednesday night came and went, earning him a little over $350 – it was a big audience that night, and he had a solo gig to some pop rock song that drove the younger than usual audience wild – and he didn't think again of the Elizabeth look-alike until he saw her in the audience on Thursdays show. Despite the poor lighting and the distance, this time Neal could just about swear it really was Elizabeth.

"She's the one I was fucking talking about before." Dallas said when he noticed Neal's interest that night. "Last Saturday, remember?" Neal nodded. "Well she stayed for your show yesterday, too, and she's here again today. She approach you yet? Because if she's some fucking stalker I can get Jay to - "

"She hasn't come anywhere near me." Neal replied. Yeah, he thought as he squinted at her. That was definitely a wide-eyed Elizabeth Burke sitting next to a blonde that Neal didn't recognize. Peter was nowhere to be seen, though that wasn't surprising all things considered. The man would have stuck out like a sore thumb here. Not because of his gender – they had plenty of gay male clients – but because he was so obviously in law enforcement and so obviously straight it was laughable. It would have made him so obviously uncomfortable and Dallas probably would have confronted him about it to make sure he wasn't there to hurt one of his staff.

"What do you want me to fucking do?" Dallas asked. Neal tilted his head a bit, studying her. Dallas took the safety of his dancers seriously, which was all good in Neal's eyes, but Neal was less concerned about potential violence and more about blowing his cover. She technically wasn't doing anything wrong, though…

"Nothing." He finally said. "For now." Then he grinned and winked. "She's quite lovely, I'm actually flattered that she seems to be following me." Dallas broke into a wide, knowing grin.

"You wanna fuck her, don't you?" Dallas clapped him on the shoulder with a laugh. "Think she has a fucking ring on her finger, man. Sorry. Better luck with the next one." Neal shrugged and Dallas returned to the stage to introduce Tarzan and his act. Neal would go on next, and then the show would wind down with an hour where random women where pulled from the audience and onto the stage for some one-on-one dance action. Dallas referred to it as the Thursday/Saturday Night Special and it usually earned the dancers another $100 in tips by the time it was done and over with.

Neal ducked backstage to finish his preparations for his number, and when Tarzan appeared pulling money from his thong Neal gave him a fist bump before heading out. Dallas got the audience screaming as a scantily clad man brushed dropped dollars off the stage to be handed to Tarzan, and a heavy bass eventually started playing.

This routine was a solo to a hip-hop slash rap song that had a heavy thumping beat. Every slow count of ten Neal managed to strip off an article of clothing. Every count of twenty he broke into a series of hip thrusts. When the lyrics quieted and the music got louder he did a series of complicated flips and turns across the stage that left the ladies screaming. When the lyrics started up again he was wearing nothing but a black thong. The complicated flips turned into simple hip thrusts and shimmies – it was damn near impossible to aerial maneuvers in a thong without something falling out – closer to the edge of the stage.

As he slid on his padded knees out onto the strip of stage jutting into the audience, he arched so his head was tucked almost between his splayed feet. He could feel hands touching him and tucking money into his thong or dropping it onto the stage beside him. Dallas, ever the businessman, got away with charging his clients more at the door because he allowed careful groping (all dancers where warned before signing up with him, of course). Neal didn't complain because it meant more, and higher, tips.

Finally the routine was done and he headed back stage, where he promptly downed a whole bottle of water before peeling bills out of his thong. The stage sweep from before rushed back to hand him a stack of bills before diverting to Tarzan to hand the man a slightly smaller stack. As Neal smoothed out the bills and shuffled them into order, a little slip of paper fluttered to drop on the table. He blinked at it for a few seconds, not really surprised because it wasn't uncommon for women to put their phone numbers in crumpled tips, before picking it up.

NC – See you outside when you're done. Don't Run – EB

Neal would recognize Elizabeth's handwriting – along with Peter's and the rest of the New York City White Collar division – anywhere. He let out a huff, frustrated that his cover was blown, before ripping the paper up. Mike eyeballed him from across the room but said nothing. The others hadn't noticed, they where too busy getting ready for the closing act.

Elizabeth was nowhere in sight for the one-on-one dancing, for which Neal was grateful. Having her watch him was one thing, but to have to gyrate on her was something he really didn't want to have to deal with. Ever. Peter would murder him, and probably get away with it.

He was reluctant to leave after the show, so he stayed for the after hours party and indulged in a little bit of therapeutic pot smoking, but then the others started to filter out slowly until it was just him and Dallas he had no choice but to go before the host started asking questions. So he exited through the back door with a bottle of water and made his way to his bike, the cool breeze sobering him up. The thin figure waiting, perched daintily on the bike's seat, was no surprise and he approached cautiously.

Vaguely, he wondered if his pupils where at all dilated and he stamped down the urge to sniff himself to see if he smelled like pot. Even though he didn't really indulge a whole lot, maybe staying for the party wasn't such a great idea…

"I didn't think you would actually come." Elizabeth said softly as he stopped in front of her. "Then again, I didn't really know what to think when my friend dragged me to a male strip club where you just happened to be working."

"I didn't know you knew anyone in Florida." Neal said carefully, taking a swig of water to clear his head a bit more.

"I didn't until this past week." Well then that would explain it. Neal nodded. Elizabeth studied him for a minute before pushing off of his bike and closing the distance between them. There was a tense minute of silence before she surprised him by wrapping her arms around his shoulders and pulling him into a hug.

"El…"

"Shhh." Neal melted into her embrace, relaxing. Cutting ties with the Burkes had been hard, after all they had been through. He had done the unthinkable for a conman and formed an attachment to them. "God, Neal, we've missed you." And apparently they had formed an attachment to him.

"I missed you guys too." Neal admitted. She suddenly pulled back and slapped his shoulder in mock anger.

"Stripping, Neal? Really?" She asked before laughing and pulling him in again.

"Well, it worked didn't it? Never thought to look at a strip joint in Florida, did you. If you did you would have found me a lot sooner. As it so happens, you didn't really find me so much as stumble upon me – and you're not an agent, so I'm in the clear." Neal replied. "But if it makes you feel better, I've only been here for little less than a year." She just shook her head and pulled back.

"No, it doesn't." She teased. "Where have you been? Other than here, of course!"

"Allegedly, maybe out of the country. There may have been beaches involved." He said evasively. "Is Peter here with you?" He finally asked. "Does he know that you found me?"

"Yes, he's here with me– Hughes forced us to take a much needed vacation. Your disappearing act caused quite the stir and Peter's been working hard to find a way to get you back." Neal shrugged helplessly. "But he doesn't know that you're here, not for sure. I told him I saw you but when he asked me where I think he got a little hung up on the stripping part and didn't believe me."

"I can only imagine how that conversation went." Neal said softly with an amused grin, which faded rather quickly. "Is he mad at me? I didn't read him wrong, back in the city, did i?" Whether or not Peter had meant for Neal to take off that day – take off as in flee the country as opposed to just go and hide in the city - on the steps in front of the FBI was still a mystery to Neal. "I didn't ruin anything for him?"

"No on all counts." Elizabeth said softly in assurance. "He was actually," Elizabeth was cut off when the door slammed open, and Neal turned to see Dallas standing in the dim light, complete with huge pupils and a suspicious frown on his face.

"Ken, what the fuck is going on here?" He asked. "Is everything okay? I saw you guys on the fucking monitors… Do I fucking need to call security?"

"It's fine, Dallas." Neal said as Elizabeth blinked up at the crass cowboy. Dallas narrowed his eyes. "She's actually an old friend. Didn't recognize her before because the damn lights where too harsh." Dallas relaxed.

"If you're fucking sure, then. I'm locking up and leaving. Don't hang around for too long, the alley isn't the best place for a fucking reunion." And then he was gone. Neal turned back to Elizabeth.

"I thought that was all for show." She said faintly.

"Dallas doesn't put on a show." Neal said with a wry grin. "What you see on stage is all 100% him. He's a very crass individual." Elizabeth nodded in agreement. "We shouldn't stick around though, he's right." Neal shifted nervously.

"Peter will want to see you." Elizabeth said.

"Is it safe for him to do that? Because I'm not going to let him take me back to the city, not if Kramer is still a threat. I don't want his career ruined because of this." Elizabeth paused. "Look, I'm not going to take off on you now. It's almost six in the morning and after the show I'm too tired." Not to mention stoned. He wanted to do nothing more than go home and crash for a few hours.

"I can talk to him." Elizabeth finally agreed. "Where do you live?"

"Let's meet somewhere public, first." Neal hedged. He pulled Elizabeth's note out of his pocket and scribbled a quick note to Peter on the back of it, followed by a phone number. "Call this number when Peter figures out how we can meet up. We'll meet at The Dock, it's a beachside club not too far from here." Elizabeth nodded. "Afternoon is best for me. I work Wednesdays, Thursdays, Fridays, and Saturdays from nine to five. I tend to sleep until around two after I crash at home."

"What about other work?"

"I freelance." Neal shrugged. Elizabeth still seemed reluctant to let him go, and embraced him in a tight grip. After, he popped the stand off of his bike and wheeled it out of the alley. He walked her to her car and watched her pull away before mounting his ride and taking off in the opposite direction.

He half expected to see Elizabeth again the next night at work. Heck, he half expected Peter to show up now that Elizabeth would have confirmed that he was, in fact, there. He also looked around for them when he was in town dropping off his commissioned artwork, but he never did see them and the phone – a burner phone of course – stayed silent until Sunday morning.

"Ken speaking." He answered, using his alias just in case.

"Neal?" A familiar voice asked hesitantly.

"Peter." Neal breathed.

"I can't believe this." Peter sounded equally parts exasperated and mad, and just a little bit amused. "We sent agents OVERSEAS looking for you, we had APBs out on all the major continents, and you're here. In the U.S. - in FLORIDA for God's sake!" There was a pause. "Are you really pretending to be a stripper?"

"No." Neal answered with a wry grin. But as soon as Peter let out a relieved breath he continued, falling back into their usual playful banter easily. "I don't pretend to strip, I just do it." And there was that frustrated choking sound that Neal loved to surprise out of the agent.

"Oh God, and my wife,"

"Probably saw more of me that you would have ever wanted her to." Neal confirmed. He could hear Elizabeth berating him from the background for provoking her husband. Old habits died hard, he thought with a wry grin. "Sorry, that was inappropriate."

"Yeah, it was." There was silence.

"You aren't going to get in trouble for talking to me, are you?" Neal finally asked. "You and the team have done too much for me, I don't want to ruin your career." Peter let out a sigh.

"No, I won't get in trouble. Not a lot of it anyway. Look, we need to talk about this face to face. Things have happened and you need to be brought up to speed." Neal nodded in agreement, even though Peter couldn't see him. "Are you free today?"

"Yeah, we can meet at The Dock any time today. Just let me get up and get dressed."

"Neal, it's almost one." Neal glanced at the clock and yeah, it read one o'clock. A full hour before he usually got up after work nights.

"Yeah, well, I don't live in the city – you don't think I would be that stupid, right? – so I have to drive in. And I had a long _hard_ night of work, you know. I didn't get back until…." He teased.

"Too much information, Neal." Peter interrupted. "But all right. The Dock around four, we'll be there." Another pause. "It's good to hear from you. For a while we thought something might have happened."

"Nothing happened. A few close calls, but I'm okay." He paused. "It's good to hear from you, too, Peter." Neal admitted. "I'll let you go so I can get ready. See you soon."

"Yeah. See you soon." Neal hung up first and then stared at the phone. It was a good half an hour before he could bring himself to get out of bed and the first thing he did was start the coffee maker. He jumped into the shower for a quick scrub down, wrinkling his nose as he scrubbed the final remnants of sweat off. He dressed in a pair of tan khakis, a muted blue button up, and a pair of light colored deck shoes.

By the time he started breakfast – proper French toast, Mozzie's recipe – he had an hour and a half before he had to be at The Dock, which was a local hot spot that was part bar, part restaurant, and part party location. He read the paper, ate his meal leisurely, and then grabbed a straw fedora as he bounced out the door. He tucked the hat in the seat storage of his bike for safe keeping, donned his helmet, and took off.

He made it to The Dock shortly after three. It would be another hour or two before peak rush hour hit, when people would be getting out of work, so it wasn't hard to get in and settle himself at a small table facing the main entrance and allowing him full view of the side exit heading towards the beach.

Not only did the location serve as a good vantage point but he really wanted to see if Peter recognized him as quickly as Elizabeth had considering his look had changed quite a bit. Gone where the vintage suits and skinny ties – but God did he miss them - and only the fedora remained of his New York style. His hair was lighter, thanks to the sun, not to mention cut in a different sloppier style. He was also a bit tanner – oh he would never get bronze, but he could get darker than the NYC sun would allow – and he was much more clean shaven other than the stubble framing his mouth.

Finally, after two drinks and a plate of nachos, he spotted them. Elizabeth scanned the room and spotted him immediately, but Peter's eyes passed over him a couple of times before returning to scrutinize him more closely. He smirked just the tiniest bit and seconds later the Burkes – Peter in the lead - where making their way over.

"Hey guys." Neal greeted as he stood, hand held out. It was promptly grabbed, but instead of shook it was used to pull him into a tight hug. Which he returned after a second of shock. "Hey Peter."

"Neal." They pulled apart and Neal greeted Elizabeth with a gentle hug before they all sat. A waitress came to take their orders – Neal a refill, Peter a glass of beer, and Elizabeth a fruity slushy drink – and they just stared at each other for a long minute. "Still with the hat, I see." Peter finally said. Neal grinned and expertly flipped the fedora up off the table and onto his head. Elizabeth beamed and Peter shook his head. Their drinks came and Neal turned serious as soon as the waitress left.

"Before we go any further, I need to know that this," Neal waved his hand to indicate their meeting. "Isn't going to get you in trouble." Peter nodded.

"I'm safe." Peter assured. "I wasn't sure that you got my message on the steps so it's good to see you not in DC or prison. You don't deserve that."

"I was pretty sure that you wanted me to run, so I did. Wasn't 100% sure until right now, though. Thanks. You didn't have to warn me."

"Kramer was going to bring you in for reckless endangerment. They had reports of you jumping those cable cars – which I told you was a bad idea." Neal winced. "He was hoping to get you re-assigned to his team in DC. At first I think it was a pride thing – he wanted our conviction rate."

"Can't fault him for that." Neal said.

"But then it became personal when it became clear that you where toeing lines without consequence, and would likely refuse the transfer request. He always was a stickler for the rules. Then he just wanted you with him so he could pin more crimes on you and get you sent away for good, because he was that pissed off. He was never a good sport about losing, and he lost big time when he couldn't pin that U-Boat treasure on you."

"Not very fair of the justice system." Neal commented.

"It wasn't the system, though, it was Kramer. He was acting on his own." Peter corrected. "And in the end the system actually came down on your side. Once everything came to light, Kramer couldn't convince anyone to keep up the man-hunt past that first few months. Despite your reputation, the search went by the way of other escaped criminals. We actually sopped searching entirely - just updated our systems to alert us on any activity that you might be connected to – three months ago."

"Just like that?" Neal asked in surprise.

"We thought you left the country for good." Peter nodded. "It didn't hurt that OPR eventually filed on your behalf against Kramer." Neal almost choked on his Pina Colada.

"How did that happen?"

"Kramer's plan was brought to their attention. As much as they like us putting criminals behind bars, they don't like it when we pretty much ignore the law to further out own agenda. Kramer didn't just toe the line, he leapt clear across it apparently – and no, I'm not privy to any more information on the subject."

"Wow." Neal was amazed.

"You're still in trouble, don't get me wrong. You skipped the commutation hearing and cut the anklet. You left the country, though I don't think we can actually prove it." Neal nodded. "If you're brought in, or turn yourself in, you'll be back in prison for sure. But it wouldn't be a stretch to get you back out on work release, or maybe even parole considering the circumstances."

"And the crimes Kramer was trying to pin on me?" Neal asked, thoughtful.

"Mot of them actually reached statute of limitations." Peter smirked a bit. "The rest are weak, mostly circumstantial. No judge would actually file charges considering the circumstances in which they where brought up." Neal sighed.

"What do you suggest I do?" Neal finally asked.

"Well, what do you want? Do you want to come back to the city? Back to me and El and June?" Neal nodded without hesitation. As much as he liked the life he made for himself as Ken, he missed the city and his friends and even the work he did with Peter. "Then come back with us." Peter suggested. "I promise to get you out as soon as I can."

"Don't make empty promises, Peter." Neal said. Before Peter could argue, Elizabeth stopped him.

"He's right, hon." She said softly. "Don't make a promise you aren't sure you can keep. We all know that Neal is more than likely going to have to serve some prison time for skipping out like he did." Neal nodded. Peter sighed.

"Well, the good thing is that the statute of limitations is up for almost everything else we can pin on you." Peter finally said. "So essentially you'll just be tried and convicted for skipping out on your parole. That's a 2-5 year sentence for non-violent felons. Is there any proof that you left the country?" Neal shook his head. "Good, if there was then the sentence would be doubled."

"So I do the minimum I can in prison and finish the rest on probation." Neal suggested. Peter huffed.

"That would be ideal. And considering your work with the Bureau to date just helps matters. But, Neal – you already skipped out on the anklet. More than once, even." Elizabeth interrupted.

"So they could argue that it didn't do any good the first time, and they may not be willing to try again despite the danger he might be in?" Elizabeth asked. Peter nodded.

"We could just argue that super max didn't hold me, either." Neal muttered. Peter shot him a look. "Right, it's probably not a good idea to bring up past crimes." Neal quickly agreed. Then he sighed. "I can't go back to prison, Peter. This time I honestly don't deserve it, for one thing. And we all know what happens to snitches on the inside. I would almost be better off with Kramer in D.C."

"I don't disagree with you on that." Peter sighed. "I need to discuss this with Hughes. He may have an idea we haven't thought of yet. Like I already said, it helps that OPR is aware of Kramer's illegal attempts to force your transfer and send you back inside."

"Until you can assure that I won't be going back inside to serve out my full sentence, I'll stay put." Neal decided. Peter reluctantly nodded.

"Will you be safe here?" Elizabeth asked. "Now that we know you're here."

"As long as you don't tell anyone that you saw me I should be fine. I don't live in the city, so even if an agent stumbles across me at work I can always flee." Neal assured. "I can have Dallas keep a lookout for Feds – he's as good as Mozzie at spotting law enforcement even if they're plainclothes or undercover."

"Who's Dallas?" Peter asked.

"My boss." Neal replied. "I don't know if it's his real name or not, so you might as well save yourself the background check. I doubt anyone uses their real names - those that do don't use their last." Peter shrugged. "If you need to pass me a message do it through Mozzie – he can contact Dallas, who can get the message through to me."

"Right." Peter said.

"So, how long are you in town for?" Neal asked. "I want to know what's been going on with everybody." The rest of the afternoon was spent in a blur of companionable drinking and chatting. Elizabeth entertained them with stories of her clients. June, Neal learned, had gotten another Pug to keep Bugsy company and Sara Ellis had been promoted. Good for her. Diana and Jones had both gotten a raise – about time, Peter has said - and there was talk of adding a Probie to the team. Before long Peter and Elizabeth had to return to their hotel and Neal promised to meet up with them again before they left for home.

Neal ended up meeting with them not only the following day, but Tuesday as well. He took Elizabeth for a ride on his bike one day, and tried to teach Peter how to boogie board another. They walked along the beach, and ate at fun restaurants. Neal and Peter occasionally squabbled over Peter's work, even though Neal technically shouldn't be anywhere near the files, and Neal was stuck again by how much he missed working with Peter. On Tuesday evening Neal slipped his burner phone in Elizabeth's purse when he hugged her goodbye at the airport. The phone was their only link to Mozzie.

On Wednesday he got to work an hour early, and after changing into his _It's Raining Men _costume sought out Dallas. He found the host in his dressing room, also already in costume. "You're here early." The man said as soon as he saw him.

"Needed to talk to you." Neal said, closing the door. Dallas tilted his head. "Nothing bad." He assured the man. "I need you and the staff to keep an eye out for lawmen. More specifically, feds."

"What the fuck did you do?" Dallas asked. "I don't want no fucking part of it if you're in trouble with the law, kid. Leave me and my business the fuck out of it." Neal rolled his eyes a bit.

"The circumstances are pretty fucked up, I don't think I should really go into too much detail. I have some people on the inside working things out, but until they do I can't afford to be brought in." Dallas eyed him. "I'm non-violent, I swear. And I'm not out to wipe you clean or anything. You did me a favor hiring me, and I wouldn't stab you in the back like that."

"Fucking better not." Dallas mumbled. "What kind of trouble?"

"White collar crimes." Neal admitted. "I was working off my sentence as an informant when a crooked agent tried to steal me away and lock me up. My handler told me to run, so I did." Neal explained, trying to remain as vague as possible.

"No fucking violence, though? No murder, assault?" Dallas confirmed. Neal nodded. "Okay, yeah, fuck. We'll keep an eye out." Neal sighed softly. "You owe me."

"Thanks."

"Now go, get the fuck out of here. We'll be heading out soon enough. Up to you to tell the other dancers, I'm not fucking doing it for you." Neal nodded and took his leave. He went back to the changing room and the others began filtering in. When they where all assembled and ready for the night, Neal caught their attention and explained to them what was going on. Thankfully, they didn't ask him any questions, and he didn't have to explain as much as he had to Dallas. As they filtered out to take their places on stage he was struck, just a little, by how loyal they where.

After the show, which was a whopping success as usual, Neal stuck around for the after party when invited. As he shared a joint with Tito, and guzzled down his third beer, he let himself relax and enjoy the company of the men he had come to call his friends.

For the next few months Neal kept a watchful eye on the crowds but didn't find anyone suspicious. The show went on and Neal couldn't help but be amused by Dallas' enthusiasm as he talked about expanding and moving the venue to Miami. Neal joked, once, that they would be a hit in New York City and regretted it when Dallas got that scheming look in his eyes. But all in all, life went back to normal.

So it was a shock when a few months later Neal followed Mike out onto the stage only to see Elizabeth and Diana, of all people, sitting front row center. Only years of practice kept him from freezing in surprise.

_It's Raining Men_ played with a heavy thumping bass and Neal tossed the umbrella aside before smoothly removing the trench coat covering his pants and vest outfit. As Mike took the lead he fell into the familiar pattern – hips thrusting and twisting in time to the beat, clothes coming off until he was left in a pair of tiny shorts.

Neal and the others shimmied off the stage and danced provocatively around the crowd. Mike had chosen some blonde woman to thrust against and Neal zeroed in on Elizabeth and hoped that Peter wouldn't kill him for what he was about to do. As he practically climbed into her lap, he heard her laugh in amusement. "Meet us at The Dock." She managed to say quietly between laughs. "As soon as you get off, whenever that is."

"Might get off sooner rather than later." He teased, making her blush ever so slightly as he swung off of her and turned to Diana. She held her hands up, discreetly warding him off, and he grinned cockily. "Am I going to be arrested?" He offered her his wrists playfully as he instead swung around her, provocative yet barely touching her.

"Not yet." The woman warned. Neal laughed and moved back to join the others on stage, where they finished off the song. He followed Tarzan that night, so he watched from the sidelines as Diana and Elizabeth sat through the first couple of acts. He was prepared when Dallas approached.

"She's back." He stated. "Did she bring you some good fucking news?"

"I think so – I'm not being led out in cuffs at any rate." Neal answered, only half joking.

"We'll fucking miss you, Ken. You're a damn good addition to the group." Dallas' hand clapped him on the shoulder and squeezed. "Just fucking tell me before you go, yeah?"

"Not leaving without my paycheck!" Neal teased. Tarzan exited the stage, so Neal left Dallas to take his place behind the stage entrance. As the host went though his own mid-show routine, Neal noted that Diana had discreetly left but Elizabeth was still sitting in the audience.

He shook out his shoulders as a familiar hip-hop song played. He ignored Elizabeth's gaze as he thrust and shimmied to the beat, losing himself in the act. He dropped to his knees and coerced a tipsy young woman to join him on stage, dry humping her in time to the music as she giggled and groped him. As the song ended he winked at a wide-eyed Elizabeth before exiting the stage.

"Dallas said you're leaving." Neal looked up as he finished counting his tips and came face to face with Mike. "It's a shame."

"This was never meant to be permanent." Neal replied as he pocketed the money. Behind Mike, Tito frowned. Even Tarzan looked unhappy. "I enjoyed working with you guys, but I had a life back in the city and I didn't really want to leave it the first time."

"We understand." Tarzan said gruffly.

"Are you at least staying for the after party?" Tito asked.

"No." Neal decided. "I can't show up to meet with an F.B.I. agent reeking of booze and pot." He grinned.

"No, probably a bad idea." Mike agreed. "Good luck, then." Neal accepted the man's hand, unsurprised when he was pulled into a quick back-thumping hug. Tito and Tarzan also said their good-byes before heading further back into the dressing room. Probably to find the pot in preparation for later on.

Richie was the last to say good-bye as he finished his routine and Neal spent the next hour in the shower as the guys got high and drunk, before seeking out Dallas. "You're fucking sure?" The host asked.

"Yeah." Nothing more was said as Neal accepted his final paycheck. Minutes later he was on his bike, roaring down the road. When he reached The Dock he pulled out his other burner phone and texted Peter that he was ready to meet. A minute later Peter confirmed that they where on their way.

"When Elizabeth told us where she found you I couldn't believe it – I mean, I knew you had a decent body from when I had to tape you up but you managed to get a job as a stripper? You could almost turn a lesbian straight." Neal set his magazine down 20 minutes after the text and grinned cockily up at Diana, the first to arrive.

"I'm flattered." He said as the agent claimed a seat. "So who else should I expect to show up?" He asked.

"Peter, Jones, and Hughes." Neal cocked an eyebrow – Peter and Jones where expected, but not Reese Hughes. "And before you ask me, yes – Hughes got you a deal so you won't be going back to prison. That's why he's here." Neal relaxed into his seat. "It wasn't easy, Neal. And you'll have to jump through some pretty big hoops if you want to keep yourself out." Neal merely nodded.

Jones was the next to arrive, and Neal waved the agent over. "I'm not even going to ask you about your job." The man said as they shook hands in greeting. "Too much information."

"Aw – Diana said I could almost turn her straight and I wanted to know if I could do the opposite for a man!" Neal teased.

"I said 'a lesbian', not me Caffrey." Diana corrected. Jones just shook his head. Peter and Hughes where the last to arrive, together, and Neal straightened under the serious gaze of the senior agent.

"Caffrey."

"Sir." Peter and Hughes took their seats.

"I'm putting my ass on the line for you on this, and the only reason I am is because we screwed up in the first place." Neal nodded. "I've spoken to OPR and the DOJ and we've managed to come up with a solution to our little problem. We're going to let you back in to the program on limited terms."

"Of course. Name them." Hughes pulled a folder out from his briefcase.

"There's a long list." Peter said strongly. "We'll start with how we're going to track you." Hughes opened the folder and pulled out a thin packet of information. Neal accepted it.

"We can't risk another anklet, and the DOJ wants you on something that you cannot remove. So we've decided on two means of accomplishing this - the first is a microchip – it won't set off bug scanners, metal detectors, nothing. So far nothing has been able to de-activate it once planted. You don't know where we put it, only the surgeon who plants it will. It gets permanently planted in bone, so there's no digging it out."

"Sounds painful." Neal commented.

"You're knocked out for the procedure. It's not something we've done a whole lot, but we've had success with it in the past on other high risk cases." Hughes replied sternly. "The next is actually a new development – you're going to be the guinea pig, so to speak, to see how it works. It's tattoo, of sorts. It's invisible to the naked eye, but will show up under a specific light – not black light or UV, that would be too easy – so other officers can identify you if you're ever booked into prison while on a job for us or if you're ever picked up otherwise. The dye used is traceable, to an extent, and you won't be able to remove it without removing a good portion of your skin." Neal winced.

"Like Hughes said, it's a new thing." Peter spoke up. "We figure now is a good a time as any to test it – if it seems to work then we might use it to mark our undercover operatives." Neal nodded.

"Is this agreeable?"

"Don't have a choice." Neal said. "But yes."

"Good. Now, your living situation will be different – we've talked them into allowing you to stay with June, who is very happy and eager for you to return." Hughes said. "But in return we've added some new security features. Hidden cameras for example. And we've installed another new device – it reads your new tattoo, and you'll be required to sign in and out whenever you enter or leave June's house."

"Sounds high tech." Neal commented as more papers where shuffled over.

"It is. And we know about your little friend and his obsessive need to sweep for bugs. He's welcome to do so, but under no circumstances are the live feeds – which will also be recording to three or more separate locations – to be messed with. If they are messed with or if you fail to sign in or out, you will be put back in prison." Neal nodded. "You will also check in with Peter every morning and evening until further notice, using a phone we will provide."

"Your duties with us are also going to be different." Peter continued. "You have to earn back the right to go undercover. My guess is it won't take long – we need you too much." Peter continued. "But mostly you will be on loan, so to speak, to other divisions should they so need your expertise."

"Even Ruiz?"

"Even Ruiz." Peter agreed.

"The rest is basically the same as before." Hughes summarized. "But we will be conducting regular apartment checks. If we find any contraband or illegal substances, you're back in. We can't help you."

"You need to keep out of trouble." Diana spoke up softly. "You and your friend. No more forged passports, no more fake identities. We can provide undercover background material if you need it."

"I understand."

"Neal, this is your last chance." Hughes said as Neal read over the file. "If you screw this up, chances are you're back in prison for good. I'll be working hard on my end to make sure Kramer and the Bureau stay out of things from now on. I'll make sure you get a fair shake."

"Thank you, sir."

"Welcome back to White Collar."

END

Yes, I left it open for a sequel. May or may not write one.


End file.
